


Checkmate

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [25]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut, chess analogies, chess and fluff and smut, chess smut, clarke being clarke, underwear gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29589405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Clarke approaches seducing Bellamy like playing a game of chess.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 9
Kudos: 155
Collections: Bellarke smut





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a smutty Saturday based on chess. I think that's proof if any were needed that I've written for t100 too much. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing. Happy reading!

Clarke needs a strategy.

That's what she decides, as she watches Bellamy turn away from her with a cold nod and smile at Mel instead. A strategy to show him how sorry she is that she left after Mount Weather, how glad she is that she came back a month later. A strategy to show him that she loves him, that she figured that out during her time away. That she's come to terms with the fact she loves him even while she mourns Finn and feels attracted to Lexa – this is the ground, and life's messy like that. A strategy to convince him to love her back, too, to show him there's more to her than just his sometimes friend and difficult colleague.

More than anything? More than anything she wants a strategy to get him into bed.

That's what she's telling herself, anyway. It's easier to swallow than the honest truth that she's desperate for a strategy to win her way into his heart.

She plans it carefully, approaches it like she would a game of chess. It's a combination of attention to detail and luck that has kept her alive on Earth so far, she knows, and she hopes that same winning formula will help her out now.

She hopes it with all her heart and all her soul, because she really can't lose Bellamy.

…...

Step one of her strategy is simple. She needs to spend more time with him, show him her genuine remorse. That's why she gets herself put on the schedule to take the rover out scouting with him tomorrow morning. Her mother looks at her funny, when she asks for that favour, but doesn't object, and so Clarke's plan rolls into motion.

"What are you doing here?" Bellamy asks, visibly surprised, when she meets him in the hangar bay for their outing.

"Coming scouting." She says simply.

"Don't you have more important things to do?" He asks, a little unkind. "Negotiating with the grounders or whatever?"

"This is important too." She says, defensive.

He snorts. She doesn't blame him. She takes a deep breath, tries to do better.

"I'm exactly where I want to be." She tells him honestly. "It'll be good to work with you again. I missed you while I was away."

Another snort. A half nod, too, though. He hops into the driver's seat of the rover, barely gives her chance to belt up before he's driving out the hangar bay doors.

They're well past the camp gates by the time Clarke gathers her courage for her next strategic move.

"I'm sorry. I mean it, Bellamy. I'm sorry for leaving."

"It's not just the leaving." He says, jaw tight. "You kind of put that right by coming back again, I guess. But it's the _way_ you left. You haven't even tried to fix that. I was standing there begging you to come inside and you just walked off without stopping to think how I would deal with it. So much for _together_."

"You're right." She admits. "I didn't show you any consideration."

"I felt taken for granted. My mum and sister took me for granted for _years_. You were the first person I ever thought actually had a bit of respect for me. But then you just walked off like I was _nothing_. And you presumed I'd stay and take care of things here."

"You're right. You're so right." She repeats, her voice starting to shake. "I'm sorry. I didn't see it that way at the time. But I do see it that way now, and I promise I'll never take you for granted again. I _do_ respect you."

He nods. He heaves in a long breath. And then he turns to her, even as he drives, a smile on his face that does not quite reach his eyes.

"Great. So – scouting sector six?"

She blinks, a little confused. "Bellamy?"

"We're good." He says, more determined than honest, she thinks. "Come on, Princess. I'm sick of apologies and forgiveness. I'm sick of being angry with you. I just want to drive around the forest while you criticise every move I make."

"I won't -"

"There you go again. Telling me I'm wrong." He dares to tease.

She grins. She's missed this. And yes, sure, it's more strained than normal – they are consciously _acting_ the rituals of their friendship rather than falling naturally into their usual pattern.

But all in all, she thinks her first move has been a success.

…...

Her next move is bolder. The scouting trip was likely to succeed, she knows – she had Bellamy cornered, more or less, and besides which he's terrible at staying angry to her face. But this next one has an element of risk.

Just because he didn't flee from her, yesterday, doesn't mean he actively wants to spend time with her today.

She meets him at the gates when he comes in from a hunting trip with Miller.

"Bellamy. Hey. How was it out there?"

"Not bad. Three deer between the two of us." He says, with a gesture at the carcass he has tossed over one shoulder.

"That's great. Good job."

He smiles a little at her praise. Has he always done that? She's not sure. Wouldn't she have remembered, if he was always in the habit of wearing that beautiful little half-grin every time she congratulated him on a job well done?

She shakes that thought aside. She cannot afford to be distracted. She must focus on the strategy.

"Do you want to hang out later today? Maybe after supper, I was thinking?"

"Yeah. Sure." He answers, without missing a beat. "What were you planning?"

Damn it. What _was_ she planning? Her playbook only took her as far as inviting him to spend some time with her. She never quite got round to thinking of an activity. Such a silly, amateurish mistake.

"I like chess." She says, for want of a better idea.

"Great. I've never played it before, so you'll have to go easy on me."

She blinks at him, stunned. He wants to play chess with her? He wants her to teach him how to play an essentially pointless game of pieces and squares in the midst of this apocalyptic hellscape?

That's – that's really rather promising.

…...

Their chess evening goes really well. Not the quality of gameplay – Bellamy is an absolute beginner and doesn't take to it quickly either.

But they chat a lot while they play. They laugh a fair amount, too. It reminds Clarke of those evenings they used to spend planning the assault on Mount Weather at a table in the makeshift bar – only better, because now they are discussing game strategies, not plotting to take down a nuclear bunker. Bellamy is sitting there, stretched out over her bed – more _lounging_ than sitting, in fact. He looks so relaxed and at home in her space, so genuinely happy to be fixing their friendship. It's good to get to know him in peacetime, she thinks – or what counts for peacetime in a warzone. He smiles a lot more than she remembers, and she finds herself smiling straight back at him.

She's only made a couple of moves, so far. But already she thinks she has the game well in hand.

She's feeling confident, after they have finished spending the evening together. When Bellamy leaves, she finds herself staying up late, staring at her bedroom ceiling and working on her strategy.

She feels brave enough to start planning the actual seduction, now the early stages of her scheme have been met with such success. As she lies there, stretched out over the bed Bellamy so recently reclined on, she decides what she will do if and when she gets him to try sleeping with her for the first time.

She'll start with some kissing, of course. _Obviously_ she will start with kissing. Kissing is essential to set the mood, and Bellamy's lips have always struck her as rather kissable.

But once they have kissed for a while, that's when things will get interesting. That's when she'll drop to her knees, take his cock into her mouth. He's got a large cock – she knows that from hearing talk back at the dropship – so she'll concentrate on licking along the length of it, first, and sucking the sensitive head into her mouth. When she's feeling a little more confident, when she's got the measure of him, she'll try taking it down her throat. She'll work the head with her tongue as she swallows him as deep as she can. He'll be making these little moaning sounds, she thinks – like he's not sure he's allowed to enjoy himself this much. She'll pull back, look up into his face. He'll look absolutely _wrecked_ , not believing this treat is all for him. Not knowing how to accept her devotion. Then she'll tear her eyes away from his tortured expression, shove his cock down her throat all over again.

She'll choke on him, and she'll like it.

Once she's got him panting, maybe trembling just a little, she'll lead him to the bed. She'll get down on all fours before him and beg him to make her _his_. And he'll look a little unsure at first, a little reluctant. She'll have to throw an inviting look over her shoulder at him. Then he'll break, seize her by the hips, fuck into her urgently and -

And she should probably stop right about there. This isn't a plan any more, is it? This is a fantasy, plain and simple.

As she eases her hand inside her underwear, she finds that she even has the slick fingers to prove it.

…...

The next step of the plan goes better than Clarke could dare to hope for. She's planning to ask Bellamy to hang out with her again, just the two of them, just as friends – to share some more quality time, as per her strategy. But she's not quite got round to it yet, perhaps a little sheepish when she remembers what she found herself imagining last night. They've been eating breakfast together for a good ten minutes and she has yet to issue the invitation.

Bellamy beats her to it, in the end.

"You doing anything tonight?" He asks, eyes fixed on his porridge.

"Not really, why?"

"You want to hang out? Maybe you could come over to my place this time?" He suggests.

She jumps at the chance. "Yeah. Great. I'd like that. I'll bring the chess set."

Just for a moment, his face tenses. Or maybe she imagines it – mere seconds later he's smirking instead.

"Can't wait, Princess. More sarcastic commentary on my chess skills. Sign me up."

Oh. Right. Maybe she should be a little kinder about his playing, this time. Maybe heavy-handed instructions have no place in this plan.

…...

Clarke's not sure what to expect, when she arrives at Bellamy's room. She's never been in here before. He opens the door and invites her in, sweeps an arm around the small space.

It's interesting, she thinks. A single bed, carefully made. A pair of boots under it, listing sideways as if they were kicked hurriedly out of the way, socks spilling over the side. One small table, with one book, one washbag, one folded shirt, and one folded pair of underpants.

Is this it? Is this Bellamy's entire life?

No. That's wrong, isn't it? That would be a misunderstanding of everything _Bellamy_. He is, evidently, a man with very few possessions. But she knows that his _entire_ _life_ is made up of people and experiences and most of all of stories, not of _items_.

All the same, she thinks it would be nice for him to own more than one spare shirt.

"It's tidier than my room." She says, wanting to be complimentary.

"It's not full of sketchbooks." He bounces back, grinning. "Make yourself at home. Have a seat on the bed."

She does. She does sit on the bed, legs crossed, leaning up against the wall. That gives him the whole of the far end of the bed to sit on, she figures.

He does not choose to take her up on that. He chooses, instead, to sit close by her side. Clarke has never played chess sitting squashed up against someone on a single bed before now, but it looks like she's about to try it.

Good thing he sucks at chess, she thinks ruefully. She's not sure she'll be concentrating on the game tonight.

She tries not to be too distracted, as they play. But it's difficult, because that fantasy she had last night was really very _detailed_ and she's struggling to ignore it, now. She's struggling to focus on this stage of her plan, rather than skipping ahead.

She really needs to make her next move – and _soon_.

…...

Her next move is pure genius. She's not trying to brag – it's simply the truth.

She procures a pair of boxers. Navy blue, threadbare, but with neither stains nor holes. That counts as victory, round these parts. She plans to invite Bellamy to hang out with her tonight, then give him his new underwear. It's the perfect gift, she figures. Clothing is a valuable commodity in camp, so this gesture will say she's serious about him – serious about earning his forgiveness, doing better, and being his friend. It will say she wants to support him and not take him for granted, too – he's been coping with too few clothes, and she's going to help him out with that.

More than anything, boxers are unambiguously intimate. This will show him that she considers them something of an old married couple, comfortable with each other, domestic in every way.

And, of course, it will strongly imply that she's interested in seeing him naked.

"Chess again tonight?" He asks over breakfast.

She nods, smiling widely. She believes she has him in check.

…...

She's a little nervous, when supper is eaten and it's time to go hang out with Bellamy. She didn't eat with him this evening – he was at a table full of his friends from the guard and she left him to it, eating with Raven instead. And now she's wandering down the hallway towards his room, a little flustered, because they never actually agreed on where they were meeting tonight. She's heading for his place because she figures that's a better idea than risking not seeing him at all, if she just sits home and hopes for the best.

Anyway, his bed is smaller. She wouldn't say no to sitting squashed up against him again.

She's not looking where she's going, as she rounds the final corner. She walks straight into Bellamy's chest as he walks the other way. His hands come up to her shoulders to steady her.

And then somehow, his hands never leave.

"You OK?" He asks. "Sorry about that. I was just heading over to your place."

"Let's stick with yours. We're closer." She says, nodding just down the hall.

He seems happy enough with that, releasing her at last to lead the way back to his room. She pats down her pocket, finds the boxers still safely in place. She checks her chess set, finds it still closed and no pieces scattered over the floor from that impact.

They arrive at Bellamy's room. She knows the drill, now, so she sits on the bed and makes herself at home, relaxing and sprawling out a little. She sets her chess set on the small table next to the bed, because she wants to give him his gift first of all. She's too excited about this to wait any longer.

"I got you something." She announces, the moment he is seated on the bed at her side.

"What? You shouldn't have." He protests, as if he simply cannot comprehend the idea.

"I did. I hope you like it. Here."

She produces the boxers, hands them over. Bellamy is silent for a long while, simply looking at his gift, taking it all in. Clarke is beginning to worry, honestly. Does he not like them? Is blue not his colour? She thinks he'll look great in them.

No – he _does_ like them, she's pretty sure. He's smiling ever so slightly. But it's a tense smile, like the ones he used to wear at the dropship – not like the much more relaxed smiles they've been sharing since she came home and they started fixing their friendship.

But if he _does_ like the gift, what is the problem? Why is he still silent? She didn't plan for this, damn it. She planned how to get him in check, but not how to manage checkmate.

Then, at last, he speaks.

"Please tell me these aren't _friendship_ boxers, Clarke." He mutters, croaky, slow.

"What?"

"Please tell me they're not _apology_ boxers. Or _Earth's best bodyguard_ boxers. Or pity boxers or platonic boxers or – or -" He breaks off, takes a careful breath. "For god's sake, Clarke, please tell me these are _fuck me_ boxers."

She frowns. She can't quite do that.

"They're not just _fuck me_ boxers. They are apology boxers, a little bit. And you're definitely the best bodyguard on this planet. But they're – more than that. Something like can we cuddle all night and maybe grow old together if this planet lets us live past thirty?"

He laughs, a slightly hysterical sound. He balls the boxers up in his fist, gripping them tight as if he's about to explode, or weep, or maybe both.

And then he simply falls towards her, lips on lips, boxers and hands coming to rest on her waist, both of them tumbling chaotically across the bed.

Clarke goes with it. She had a strategy for this, she seems to remember. But right now she simply wants to breathe with Bellamy and embrace the chaos.

"Yes." He mutters against her lips. "Yes to all of it. I'd have said yes anyway, Clarke. You didn't need to go trade all your spare socks for boxers."

She laughs a little. She didn't trade _all_ her spare socks, as it happens. Just two or three pairs. Or maybe four or five – they really are quite decent boxers.

Whatever. That's not the point. The point is, Bellamy is worth every last stitch.

"I'm so happy you're home." He tells her now. "So good to have you back."

"It's good to be back." She assures him at once.

They kiss a bit longer. She thinks about her words. Should she have said more, there? Should she have come out with something passionate, or even dared mention love?

No. There will be time for that later – all the time in the world, if Bellamy is agreeing to grow old with her as best they can. For now, she decides, it is time for that seduction she had planned. She's fairly confident with this bit of the plan, as it happens. It's all genitals from here on out, and she thinks that rather suits her strengths. She's a lot more confident in using her mouth to bring someone pleasure than using it to make big confessions about the state of her heart.

She scoots down the bed, makes a start on unbuckling Bellamy's belt. She seems to remember she was kneeling and he was standing, in the plan, but she's willing to go with the flow at least a little bit.

"What are you doing, Clarke?" He asks, brows raised, as his cock springs free.

"Sucking you off." She says simply.

"No, you don't need to do that. Come on – come back up here."

She frowns. She's not sure she wants to go with the flow _this_ much. She's determined to get her mouth on that cock.

"I want to." She insists stubborn. "If you honestly don't want me to, of course I won't. But you don't need to be all... _selfless_ about this. If my mouth on your cock will make you happy, then I want my mouth on your cock."

He looks genuinely taken aback – whether by the sentiment or by her no-nonsense words, she's not quite sure. His jaw is tight, his eyes wide, and she can practically _hear_ him thinking over what she said.

At length, he nods.

"I'd love it. If you're sure you want to." He says, hoarse.

"I'm sure. At least for a little while."

He nods again, swallows loudly.

She gets to work. She remembers her plan, licking up the length of him, sucking on the sensitive head. She takes him slowly deeper, uses her hand to curl around what she cannot reach with her mouth. She goes as far as she can, swallows against the pressure on the back of her throat.

That's when he makes his first noise. A loud groan, absolutely _haunting_. He sounds genuinely awestruck, she thinks.

She pulls back, almost wondering if he's feeling OK. He's looking down at her, heart in his eyes, reaching out to cup the back of her head and push her back down the length of his cock.

Well, then. She'll take that as a success.

She works for a few more minutes, enjoying every moment. When she was imagining this, she seems to remember she expected him to be pretty appreciative. She definitely visualised the look on his face and the touch of his hands.

But the reality is something else entirely – in the best possible way. He's so damn _loud_. It's stunning, flattering, insanely hot. He keeps saying her name, or letting out these low whining noises, or even telling her she's a _good girl_. And his touches are incredible, purposeful and confident and strong, yet gentle too. He's tugging her head down onto his cock hard enough to make her feel wanted, _used_ in the hottest way, yet absolutely cherished, too.

She sneaks her free hand down to her own waistband, slips inside and reaches for her pussy. She can't help it. How is she supposed to stay here, unmoved, while he's making such a display of his pleasure? When he's making her feel so successful and sexy? She needs a finger, right now, needs to -

"Don't you dare, Princess." He teases her, smirking broadly, panting a little between phrases. "You don't get to touch yourself while I'm here. That's my job. If you're that desperate, come up here and join me."

She doesn't make him ask twice.

She abandons her task, and more or less abandons her trousers, too, shucking out of them as she wriggles up the bed. Bellamy seems to take that as a cue to start stripping, and before long his underwear is flying out of the bed, her shirt following close behind.

It's chaos. It's nothing like she planned. And yet it is _glorious_.

They're both naked, now. And they're both touching each other, reaching out instinctively, desperate to get their hands on each other. Clarke takes Bellamy's cock back into her hand, rubbing the length of him where he's still wet from her mouth. He's reaching for her pussy, slipping a pair of fingers inside, humming appreciatively at what he finds there.

It's perfect. It's totally spontaneous and messy and fun, limbs tangling together as they clumsily tease each other with their hands. It's not that what Bellamy is actually doing with his fingers is clumsy, mind you – more that the unscripted desperation is a little clumsy.

She loves every second of it. This is the best thing about Bellamy – he has always been good at getting her to have fun.

They switch it up, soon, Bellamy rolling on top of her and kissing her so hard her head is pushed right down into the pillow.

"I want to fuck you now." He announces, matter of fact, smirking slightly.

She feels a smile split her face. She's proud of him for that – proud that he asked for what he wants. That's the mood she was trying to set, by giving him that blowjob. She wants this to be one area of his life where he _never_ feels taken for granted.

Rather, she wants to spoil him rotten.

"Get on with it." She demands, teasing.

He does. He eases inside of her, hips rocking almost before he is truly seated in place. He's still touching her urgently, too, that desperate and chaotic wandering of hands that they've had going for the last few minutes. He's got one hand on her breast, one on her shoulder, angled oddly so he can still rest on his elbow. She doesn't know how she's doing it, honestly.

It doesn't _matter_ how he's doing it. This is not the time for analysis. This is the time for relaxing and enjoying the moment.

With that in mind, she concentrates more actively on pleasure – receiving, rather than focusing more on giving as she was just now. She feels his warm, strong hands sweep over her breast and neck and shoulders. She feels his hot breath pant against her ear, feels wanted and treasured and strangely _powerful_.

"So good." She tells him. Is that enough encouragement? Should she add more?

"Perfect. Fucking _perfect_ , Clarke. Knew you'd be like this."

"You did?" She asks, somewhere between curious and lovestruck.

"Yeah. Thank god for the _fuck me_ boxers. You've been driving me insane."

She laughs against his neck, kisses his collarbone soundly. "You, too." She admits easily.

He smiles into the next kiss, then nips her lower lip a little for her trouble. It's playful, harmless, just like the arguments they have outside of bed, these days.

Things are getting dangerous, here, now. She's hearing little gasping noises, realising they are coming from her own parted lips. Bellamy's totally losing it in the best possible way, alternating between her name, between low moans, between seemingly random swears.

She gets there first. They've always been somewhat competitive, haven't they? She falls apart first, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her lips going still beneath his kiss.

He doesn't keep her waiting much longer. He slows right down, really milking his last few thrusts, positively _growling_ before collapsing over her chest.

Clarke lies there beneath him, her lips still pressed to his collarbone, her nose squashed into his shoulder, her eyes just peering over him and up at the ceiling. She wonders if she can lie like this all night.

"Do I have to get you some panties now?" He asks softly. "Is that how I seal the deal and show you I'm serious about us?"

She laughs a little. "Not sure. I didn't plan that far."

"You didn't _plan_ that far?" He asks with careful emphasis. "You planned this?" He asks affectionately.

"I tried to. I wasn't great at it to be honest. I did OK at showing you I was sorry, I guess?"

He hums in agreement.

"But then I didn't know how to move us from friendship to... here." She explains, smothering a giggle against his shoulder. "And I planned out our first sex, but it kind of turned more into a fantasy half way through. Or maybe – maybe more like two minutes in."

"A fantasy, huh? Care to share?" He asks, raising his weight off her, getting up on his elbows and smirking down at her.

"Bellamy -"

"Come on, Clarke. After all we've been through, you'd deny me that? Don't you think I deserve to know what you think of me when you're touching yourself?" He prompts, teasing.

She's about to cave. She wants to see the look on his face when she tells him how she's imagined him. She wants to see him flush with pleasure at the confirmation of just how much she wants him, needs him.

Loves him.

But she's a chess player to her core. She may not have had the game under control all evening, here. But she knows how to make a trade. A piece for a piece.

"I'll tell me mine if you'll tell me yours."

He laughs a little, face falling into a sharp grin when he's done. "Deal, Princess. But I'm warning you – if you want every detail, we'll be here a while."

She can work with that. In fact, she decides, she'll be quite happy if she never leaves. That would truly taste like victory.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
